


Caricature

by lye_tea



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lye_tea/pseuds/lye_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irony in the name of the greater good. Character studies on the captains of the Gotei 13, featuring an associated TV Trope label for each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Komamura: Incorruptible Pure Pureness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was studying some of William Hogarth's caricatures on 18th-century opera goers and thought it'd be fun to do a set on the Gotei 13. The original meaning of "caricature" in art denotes to make a striking impression of a subject, not necessarily for comical exaggeration. Supplemented by an unhealthy dose of TV Tropes...this might get messy.

Theme: faith

***

 

** Komamura: Incorruptible Pure Pureness **

Shunsui and Jyuushirou might be his sons (in a matter of speaking) and Unohana is better than any blood-tied daughter (the favorite). But Sajin is the one he likes best. Sajin is the one who understands _him_ best.

Because Sajin – unlike the others (even his beloved Unohana) – takes the significance, the consequence, of loyalty to the bone. Not once does Sajin doubt him. Never hesitant or rebellious, Sajin upholds the laws with formidable pride. Fights for the weak, the underprivileged, the marginalized. He is capable of rationalizing the darker shaded nuances of justice and order as necessary albeit ugly components.

A noble man through and through (Kuchiki could do well to take some notes). He treats his subordinates with honor and compassion, is steadfast and courageous to the end of the end. And most importantly, as a man of few words, he never condones roundabout palaver.

Really, there is nothing even slightly admonishing Yamamoto could say.

– Maybe the man is too serious. On the off-occasion when Sajin does smile, his face pulls sideways-up into a rictus. He looks rather pained and scary.

His fur also smells bad when wet. Once, Matsumoto kindly (crazily) suggested that he mellow the odor with perfume. Which Sajin followed, being – well – _Sajin_. Only, the florally, pungent nausea made things worse. For weeks, he reeked of regurgitated roses doused in bloody innards.

But all that stands aside: Sajin is unparalleled as the picture of faith.

So, it is merely expected, obvious, that Yamamoto invites him over for tea. Shunsui will be jealous (prone to hubristic hurt).

"Captain-commander." Sajin bows low, head down and replete with respect.

Yamamoto smiles to himself. As always, his judgment is impeccable. "Sit, Captain Komamura."

Obedient, Sajin sits.

_Good boy._


	2. Hitsugaya: Elemental Eye Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ice

**Hitsugaya: Elemental Eye Colors**  
  
What a bizarre child, Yamamoto thinks.  
  
Cursorily, he inspects the new captain of the 10th Division. Short, _dainty_ , Hitsugaya Toushirou was—well, ineloquently put—rather uninspiring. Savvy (reputed to be a genius) yet banal. _Forgettable_.  
  
Except for his age, which _is_ extraordinarily young. And perhaps the peculiar, pale luster to his eyes.  
  
Before their first encounter, Yamamoto had already (correctly) guessed the boy’s zanpakutou type. Easy and straightforward.  
  
The boy isn’t one to play games.    
  
“Show some respect for the Captain-Commander,” Soi Fon hisses at the boy.  
  
Raising a skeptical brow, Hitsugaya glares at her but complies (Soi Fon is notorious for her temper). “It’s an honor—sir,” he grumbles and inclines his head the fraction of an inch.  
  
Agony is the grudging bow of a stubborn child.  
  
For the first time in days, Yamamoto finds himself feeling somewhat cheerful.  

\--

There’s a rumor circulating among the thirteen courts. Yamamoto pretends—à la decorum—not to notice or comment, which is considerably the more difficult of the two.    
  
But he has the keenest ears in Seireitei, is practically legendary for them. And honestly, he can’t help but overhear (eavesdropping has such an ugly connotation).  
  
The new boy-caption is reputed to be having a hard time, quote-and-quote, adjusting to his lieutenant.  
  
—Serves him right.  
  
Yamamoto lightly contemplates sending her a letter of thanks. That, or a bottle of sake.

\--

When Hitsugaya performed his bankai at his captaincy interview, he was all seriousness and intensity.  
  
Tomorrow, when he is scheduled to demonstrate Hyourinmaru for his division, he’ll probably wear that same face. Hard angles and frigid lines and a viperous tongue, the boy thinks himself a king. A god-king, king of the gods.  
  
It’s decided. The boy needs to be knocked down a notch—maybe an entire cliff.  
  
And so, Yamamoto generously accepts his request to spar. It’s almost cute. The boy has no idea whom he’s dealing with.

\--

In so many ways, they are different. One is old, the other young. One is composed, the other irascible and vinegary, prone to falling for the infidelity of fury.    
  
But sometimes, Yamamoto thinks that he and the boy are not so different. To start, they both have white hair.

\--

On the first Friday of each month, the Captain-Commander hosts a tea ceremony. Attendance is hit or miss (mostly miss). But Yachiru usually pops in about a quarter of the way through to gobble down sweets. Plus, she likes to play with the whisk.  
  
Agitated, Hitsugaya sneaks a peek at Unohana. Statuesque and beautiful, she is the epitome of feminine grace. Damn, that woman can look disturbingly serene. And Captain Kuchiki doesn’t seem exactly pained either. Obviously, it’s only him who’s suffering.    
  
Come to think, he _really_ hates these functions, can’t believe that he’s here— _of all places_. He could be doing significantly more productive things, like teasing Momo or hunting down his lazy lieutenant (god knows where _that_ woman is). But the invitation had come directly from the Captain-Commander, and he couldn’t very well refuse.  
  
At least not this time.  
  
“Is something wrong, Captain Hitsugaya?” Unohana turns to him.  
  
Ominous. He swears her smile just got bigger.  
  
“Uh, nothing. I was just…”  
  
“Lost in thought?” she supplies.  
  
“Yeah. That.”  
  
He exhales in relief as she redirects her attention away.

\--

“I hear that you’ve become more comfortable with your subordinates.”  
  
Quickly choking down the bite of his red-bean bun, Hitsugaya bows to the Captain-Commander. “Yes, I have—sir.”  
  
“It’s difficult to inherit a division, but even more so when the division has been without leadership for a while. There’s a reason you were selected as a captain.”  
  
With that, Yamamoto leaves. His steps are slow but sovereign.  
  
It suddenly dawns on Hitsugaya that he was just praised. Shuddering, he finishes his meal, grateful for the silence.  

\--

It’s been years since the boy joined the Gotei 13, and he hasn’t changed much. Yamamoto predicted this.  
  
There remains that constant frost glazed over the boy’s eyes—his general demeanor. And he’s still short (some things will never change). Still can be a prick, but now, only occasionally. He’s become more confident—less of a snot-nosed demon-brat.

Hitsguaya will go far, Yamamoto thinks.

 


	3. Kenpachi: Badass and Child Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenpachi and Yachiru; they are my favorite not-couple couple from Bleach.

**Kenpachi: Badass and Child Duo**

He is on an endless search for something ineffable (the thirst for carnage that can't be quenched). And somehow, along the way, he acquires a child.

She is small and weak. Fuzzy pink hair and enormous eyes (delighted in crimson guts). She smiles despite being alone—dripped in the remains of her parents. Giggling, she licks clean his bloodied sword.

"Yachiru."

_So she shall be called._

\--

"I want to get stronger," _strong like you_.

Awkwardly, he pets Yachiru's head and yells at her to stay hidden. Hush, the enemies are approaching (can feel the resonance scarring his belly).

The familiar elation and frenzy descend, lifting him to the surface for a final breath. He is ready

—and slashes.

\--

One day, he forgets to tell her to leave, get,  _hey_ : split-it-kid.

And so, she becomes a permanent fixture on his back.

\--

The days are raw and the nights are blessed. He counts down the hours to the kill. Always another, just one time more— _go_.

And this night marks two hundred.

Grinning wide and wild, he tosses Yachiru the head and carefully, she inspects it. She smiles, gives approval. He's had his fun.

_this is war in death_

_(death at war)_

Hoisting Yachiru over his shoulder, Zaraki abandons the massacre. He's grown bored, and she's getting sleepy. Enshrouded, they retreat into tall bamboo, swaying leaves (swinging blades).

\--

He has no sense of directions (hers are marginally better). And so, they end up in a ditch—again.

\--

One day, Yachiru is nearly caught for stealing an apple. Bravely, she confesses to him and proffers the stolen gem.

"We do not steal, Yachiru," he says, calm and deadly.

She nods cheerfully, almost apologetic (absorbing his absurd wisdom as her own).

We do not steal because we kill.

(And deftly snaps the shopkeeper's neck.)

\--

He challenges the captain of the Eleventh Division as a joke. But only Yachiru is laughing when he actually wins and is declared  _Kenpachi._

\--

Immediately, she becomes his lieutenant. And even though neither of them is sure what the title entails, what "paperwork" means, at least she can stay with him.

(The fact that she terrifies everyone else also helps.)

\--

He is the worst (best) Kenpachi in history. And like all his precursors, he will go down in furious glory, drenched in blood and entrails. Of organs, he distills into wine. Of bones, he anticipates for the brittle crunch.

He revels in the slaughter.

_Yes._

Lunges, sword raised. They swing, glide, running helter-skelter and slamming into shoji screens. The ground shakes. Butchered, he breathes through the cracks of broken ribs. And raging equally mad in his hand, his zanpakutou screams.

_Kill him. Now._

For once, Zaraki listens.

\--

He may not know his name (she doesn't care) and she doesn't suit her namesake (his fault, really). But they are each other's world. And that is all that matters.

 

 


End file.
